Scarce Energy
by Bookworm1756
Summary: Transcendence AU. Dr. Stacy Neal, demonologist, often wondered why she had chosen demonology as a career. There simply is too much to deal with—university lectures, demons trying to kill you, traveling... all she wanted was a break. The government had other plans for her.


A Gravity Falls, Transcendence AU fic. If you'd like, you may try to find in on Tumblr (as

In case you don't know what the AU is about, a quick summary is: at the end of the summer, Bill tries to merge the corporeal world with the mindscape, but it backfires (due to the Gravity Falls crew), and as an attempt to save himself he merges with Dipper. Bill dies, and Dipper becomes this demon going by the name Alcor. (There's a lot more, but hat's the gist.)

(I swear, 100% of this fic is 200% against the canon of the AU due to my horrible disproportion of stuff, but _shh no one has to know.)_

_Death, mild swearing (like 'crap' and whatever), OC, and a COMPLETE MESS OF CANON warning. _

* * *

><p><strong>Scarce Energy<strong>

Sometimes, Dr. Stacy Neal wondered why she had chosen demonology as a career choice. The hours were bad, the pay was definitely less than what you worked for, and the occasional supernatural daemon appearing to haunt you and threaten to consume your soul could arguably add to the stress.

The gentle clinking of keys turning in the lock sounded so familiar to Stacy she could have wept. Constantly, what felt like endlessly, she was opening new doors—to hotel apartments, to university auditoriums, to backstage rooms at a news interview—but only did she truly feel at ease at home.

With a PhD in demonology and twenty years of experience—ever since the Transcendence occurred thirty years ago—Stacy was very well-known and highly-praised in her field of work. She had two books under her arm, as well a dozen papers and reports. Constantly invited over to speak publicly about spirits or demons or other supernatural creatures, or magic or spells or summonings, she was hardly found at the one place she felt safe calling 'home'.

She lived alone, of course. Her parents had died when she was young because of some rioting against the supernatural—back when the Transcendence had just occurred and everyone was still frightened of the unknown. She had been raised by her kind aunt and uncle in this very house, along with her two older cousins who now both worked in the engineering sector. Perhaps it was the unfortunate loss of her parents due to some drunk teenager rebelling against the supernatural that had kindled her interest for the paranormal, more likely than not. Stacy often wondered how different her life would have been led if that one thing hadn't happened.

The door swung open slowly; it was a heavy door. More than once she and her cousins had as children been misled by its weight and injured somehow. Stacy didn't mind now.

The first thing she did was appreciate into the comfortable scent of her home—something she quite couldn't place (maybe her aunt's old perfume, or her cousin's delicious baking from long time ago) mixed with a dash of freshly-carved wood. Man, it had been a while since she'd been here—what, a month? She hauled her suitcase into the hallway a few feet down, and opened the top. The suitcase was worn and the colour was faded from countless voyages and trips to every inhabited continent on the globe, and occasionally the zipper got stuck, but Stacy couldn't be bothered with buying a new one. She grabbed a shampoo bottle and rummaged for something comfortable and completely lazy to wear.

After taking a long, hot shower that unknotted the last twines of stress tensed in her back, and making herself a relaxing cup of coffee, Stacy headed to the living room. Seated on the couch with her legs curled underneath her, and the steam from her hot beverage gently flitting by the lines of her face before swirling off in tendrils of vapour, Stacy checked her work phone for what she hoped would be the last time in twelve days.

She had one missed call from a private caller, but other than that, nothing. She smiled.

Stacy gave a small start when the phone she was holding in her hand that very moment rang so unexpectedly. She waited until the caller ID showed up, but it was the same number as the person who had called her when she was away—what, seven minutes ago? She answered, speaking with her excuse-me-hi-yes-I-went-through-eight-years-of-university-and-work-and-stress-just-to-have-people-call-me-a-doctor-so-you-know-I-mean-business tone.

"Good afternoon," she spoke. Oh, how she wished it would snow. It was nearing December and although it usually only arrived mid-January where she lived, a girl could still dream.

"Dr. Neal?" The voice was unfamiliar and had a sense of unsettling formalness to it. Stacy felt disconcerted hearing the caller; trouble seemed to be hunted by this tone.

"Yes, this is she," she replied, trying to mask his professionalism. Fantasies of snow were forgotten. "Who is this calling?"

"Doctor, this is the FBI. We need to have a word with you."

Oh, crap.

"I'm sorry?" she stammered, her lower face suddenly feeling very cold. It could have been some sort of prank, the logical part of her tried to explain, but her primitive instincts told her otherwise.

"Doctor, I would like to inform you that there is no trouble. The American government would simply like to invite you to the Pentagon, and exchange a few words about your profession."

_Oh, thank God. _Her face felt flushed, and suddenly Stacy couldn't stand her current position. She set her coffee down and unfurled her legs from underneath her. She had been contacted numerous times by several universities about the paranormal, but never _governments _before. She wasn't _that _good, and personally, her current employment level was already becoming a little more than she could handle. Not many people could guess from a glance, but Stacy was very introverted, although less so than from when she was younger; it was the main reason why she had never gotten married, nor had any best friends as a child other than her cousins. Public speaking, she thought, either in front of students or a camera, doesn't count as human interaction, and thus doesn't induce awkwardness, because it's just a show. However, being invited to speak with much better professionals than her over lunch? (And she could always pretend to act professional behind a phone, while actually wearing Star Wars pyjama bottoms and a hoodie spelling on the front I LOVE ANIME.)

"Of course," she replied, remembering her business tone. "What for?"

There was a brief pause—more of a hesitation than anything. "Best we explain in person," was the reply. "But in summary, the government is writing archives for the supernatural, and we're calling in the best American demonologists we can to create the records."

Stacy nodded to herself, standing up without realizing it. "Of course," she repeated. Great. "And when would this take place?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"As soon as possible, doctor. Tomorrow morning a government official will arrive at your home to fly you over to Virginia."

Stacy pursed her lips. "Of course." Her eyes trailed over to her suitcase lying wide-open, hardly unpacked. She couldn't seem to draw her gaze away from it. "Could we not perform this interview over the phone? It would seem much more efficient."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but it is safer this way. America thanks you for your service."

The phone clicked dead.

**-o-O-o-**

Her evening off, fortunately, seemed to last a good, long while. It seemed as if the universe understood her situation and was feeling somewhat remorseful towards one human life out of eight billion.

The official had shown up, as planned. Stacy didn't expect her trip to take longer than a full day total, so she hadn't packed more than her laptop and briefcase cluttered with notes/printed archives. One day out of a remaining eleven—that still left her with ten days to rest, maybe do some baking, catch up with her aunt and uncle living in a nearby retirement home, and marathon a new TV show.

The only thing more high-tech and modern than the car was the airplane they flew over to the Pentagon. The exterior was an onyx black, sleek and screaming high-class. The interior was (fortunately) more roomy and comfortable, with a main gradient of tan to hazelnut. Airborne, the engine was hardly audible even though it ran on fuel (a very expensive source of power nowadays), and the journey either absorbed all of even the most minor turbulence or deflected it completely. Stacy had only been in a private airplane once before, and it was nothing near this imposing. She couldn't help but be impressed, and a little worried that this was where American taxes were being blown off.

Stacy also couldn't stop feeling a little intimidated by this whole concept of _wow the government wants my help wow this is huge, _although she constantly reminded herself that she was not the only demonologist they had summoned.

The internal pun made Stacy crack a grin. The government official seated in front of her on the private plane gave her a brief look of incomprehensiveness at her smiling at seemingly nothing.

At the Pentagon, however, she could hardly focus. They led her to a large circular room with couches and a small coffee table between them, and she was pretty sure she wasn't tripping over her own feet only because she wasn't thinking about what was about to happen. There weren't any windows, but the room was well-enough illuminated to feel natural.

She was offered some coffee, which she politely declined, and left in the room by herself for a few minutes. In that time she started up her laptop and brought out a few of her key notes.

Five minutes later, around the time she was wondering if she could call someone back in to re-request that coffee, a sharply-dressed man entered the room. Stacy straightened her pencil skirt while standing from the couch and extended her hand for a handshake. She supposed this was whom she was going to be speaking to. He was clean-shaven, and would have been handsome if not for his strict body language—tight shoulders, un-fluid movements, painful posture.

"Hello, Dr. Neal," he said. His handshake was very tight and somehow caught Stacy by surprise. "My name is Agent John Williams. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Stacy Neal," she replied automatically, returning a firm handshake although not nearly as hard. "Although you probably already knew that."

The man smiled nonthreateningly, which at least humanized him a bit. "You don't mind if this conversation is recorded, do you?"

Although the conception was rather disconcerting, Stacy said it was fine.

"I've read your books," he started, sitting down on the couch opposite to her. This was a common conversation-starter Stacy was encountered with. "Highly interesting, I found them. How did you decide on what to write? I mean, demonology expands over numerous subjects."

Stacy placed her hands in her lap. "Well," she started, "in my first book I was a little more general about all concepts—supernatural creatures, magic, the mindscape, the Transcendence itself, et cetera." She paused. "My second book was focused more around demons themselves, such as their classifications, the three levels of power along with the fourth hypothetical one, summoning circles, and whatnot. I also held a few bios for a couple well-known demons, or ones I found interesting."

"Yes?" Williams leaned forward slightly, almost over her notes spread out on the coffee table. "And, say, what do you know about demon power levels specifically? Can demons be killed?"

"No," she replied almost immediately. The conversation was getting picked up, and Stacy was starting to feel less awkward and more professional. "It's impossible to kill what is immortal, and this rule slips by with very, _very _few exceptions—see Bill Cipher. But eventually his soul _will_ re-enter the reincarnation cycle and Cipher will be re-born, as a human or a demon you can't ask me."

"But I assume this only occurs for very, _very_ specific circumstances."

"Of course. Cipher had been trying to merge the mindscape and our world, a feat that—once failed—would cause the Transcendence. That huge amount of energy would be enough to kill any demon, even such a powerful one."

Agent Williams seemed very interested about that. "So, specifically speaking, it is possible to kill a demon?"

"_Very _specifically, yes, but then it wouldn't technically be 'death' as they'd be reincarnated; seeing how everyone reincarnates, though, perhaps this point doesn't make a valid argument. Either way, it is much easier to neutralize a demon over kill it, but depending on its strength and status this could be rendered a harder task to successfully pull off."

"And Elites?" Williams continued. "How difficult would it be to capture one of those?"

"Oh, near impossible, I'd say. You would need a solid summoning circle as well as additional charms… and maybe not even that. It's possible you would require a summoning circle we haven't even discovered yet. And you'd have to trick them as well—demons are clever and decisive, so you would need a plan even more so to trap them."

"I see," Williams said, scribbling down notes on a pad of paper and a pen he had grabbed from a table behind the couches. He softly mouthed the words he was writing to himself, and Stacy could catch the words "Elites", "demon" and "summoning circle" among the few.

"And, Dr. Neal, just for pure curiosity," he said, looking up from his scribbling for a moment, "have you ever summoned a demon before?"

"Yes," she replied, comforted by knowing that Williams was only half-listening to what she was saying. "Along with a report, our PhDs required the successful summoning of an at least second-class demon—spirites. Um, I've also attended several others, but never in cults or anything of the sort. I tend to stay out of the physical practice and more in the theoretical side of demonology, heh."

"Huh," he said, finishing his note. He asked her a couple more things about demons, specifically Elites, and summoning circles. He seemed very interested in charms as well, usually the ones accompanied with circles to make the binding power of a circle more powerful. Time flitted by, and three hours of life passed. Stacy was itching for a coffee. Other than the original question, Williams hardly took any notes, with exception of the occasional scribble. She assumed people outside the room listening to their conversation were taking the majority of the transcripts.

"Very interesting," he commented after she finished her fifteen-minute long rant about the mindscape. "You have done a great service to your country, Dr. Neal."

"We're finished?" This was unexpected and Stacy's heart seemed to grow a bit lighter.

"I just have one question left," the agent told her. Stacy fidgeted in her seat, glancing at all her scrambled archives sitting on the table. "What do you know about the Black Tome? Leave nothing out, please."

"The Black Tome?" This jerked her head upward.

"You know what it is, I assume," he told her, as if doubting her knowledge.

"No—I mean, yes. Of course I know what it is," she murmured. "It's a book, rumoured to have been co-written by the dream demon Alcor himself. It's all about everything in demonology, covering every extension of its numerous branches. The darkest spells, the most evil demons, and most importantly, the truest information about anything you ever wanted to know." She looked up at Williams, who was wearing a very different expression from before. Not determination, like before… but genuine curiosity.

"Keep going," he said when he noticed her pause.

She nodded, thinking of everything she knew of the tome. She hadn't learned about it in school, as it had only been 'published' maybe a decade ago. "No company would publish the book," she continued, "so there remained only one copy. They wouldn't publish partly because many people believed it had to be made up, due to there being spells with no history contained within; profiles demons with names never uttered before by mortal lips; claims of power going against everything demonologists had worked towards for decades. However, it didn't publish partly because there was fear that perhaps it was all true. Rumours of it being co-written by a demon became popular, right around the time that the author—his name was Phil Aries—died in a murder staged as a suicide.

"Now, people will say it was written by Alcor himself, although there really isn't any proof. I mean, why would an Elite agree to write a book about all demon weaknesses? What could they be so desperate for?" Stacy managed an awkward chuckle.

William was unimpressed, given way by his blank face. "And where would one find this book?" he asked.

Stacy felt her face go slightly flushed. "I wouldn't know," she said.

Williams regarded her for a long while, and Stacy knew that he hadn't bought the lie. He leaned forwards, his seriousness as cold as a dead man's gaze. "Let me remind you of your duty as an American citizen: you must aid the government in all ways that are deemed necessary—"

"Yeah, yeah." Stacy nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Of course," she said. "Okay, I heard this from a colleague of mine about four years ago. But, uh, this is just a rumour of its location, so don't take this to heart that this is exactly where one would find the book, and this was four years also ago so the information is very likely out-dated—but, uh, here it is…."

She proceeded to explain. This affirmed her thoughts that people were listening from the outside, because Williams clung on to every word, his eyes never trailing from her face. When she finished he smiled with false gratefulness and thanked her for her time, shaking her hand and leaving her to be escorted back on her way. As she tidied up her notes, she felt as if she had just made a very grave mistake.

**-o-O-o-**

A different agent escorted her to a separate room and left her there, and although he didn't give her a reason she assumed it was a wait for the plane to start up. This room was larger and less professional—it was more of a lounge than anything. Stacy sat around and drank two cups of coffee, provided by a coffee machine left by the wall, with no one to chat with. She was playing around with the mixing spoon when the agent came back.

She stood to make her way out of the room, but he stopped in front of her as if to speak. Since that point on Stacy could tell something was wrong; there was shiftiness in the agent's eyes, and he spoke with regret.

"Yes?" she asked, praying she was wrong and everything was okay.

"Doctor, there appears to a problem," the agent stated. "Your safety has been compromised. You are to remain here in the city until it is safe for you to return home."

_What the—?_

She had been expecting bad news, but this is simply impossible to believe.

"I'm sorry?" Stacy asked. "I can't leave? Why not?"

"As said, doctor, it is not safe for you to return home at the moment. We have arranged for you to stay at a hotel nearby." The agent seemed uncomfortable and a bit miffed, but Stacy hardly noticed.

"For how long?" she asked, once again dreading an answer.

"It should be no longer than a week, ma'am."

Alright, she thought. A week in a hotel—this is fine _I can still relax and take a break, even if I'm not at home._

She was so busy thinking about this that it didn't occur to her to ask how exactly was she not safe until after the agent had escorted her to be driven away to the hotel.

**-o-O-o-**

The week passed quickly, and Stacy never again heard from the government in that time.

She wanted to ask what the reason for her not being able to go home was, but she couldn't find a way how. She couldn't call back the private number left on her phone, and it wasn't exactly like she could march up to the Pentagon and demand for answers. After many afternoons mulling it over fretfully, Stacy decided to wait until the week was over, and regardless of whether she heard back of the government use the money they had given her for her ride home to buy a plane ticket back.

They had also left her money to buy clothes, as she had only brought the outfit she was wearing at the time to the interview. The hotel was very nice, and Stacy received a very nice massage she desperately needed.

It was the day before she was planning on returning home when the knock on her door came, and the short time of what was left of her life was ruined.

**-o-O-o-**

Suddenly she was at the Pentagon again, in a white lab coat, standing among six other demonologists in the same situation, being given a job.

"It is your right as an American citizen…." Stacy quickly got tired of hearing that. The government officials reminded their group almost every day.

She quickly learned that these other co-workers were the other demonologists called in for questioning for the government archives, although she was beginning to doubt that story. After comparing notes, they realized they had all gone through similar situations—called in for information for records about the supernatural, then somehow detained until this point in time when they were all gathered together.

But it wasn't like they could do anything about it—their cell phones were taken away, cutting off all connections to the outside world. The agents said it was so that they were left 'distraction-free', although no one honestly believed their crap anymore.

Stacy only knew one other demonologist of the group personally—all the others she had just heard about. They were all pretty famous—one, for example, had won a Nobel Prize for a report she had done for the mindscape, and another had a documentary made about his work. Stacy was probably the least renowned of the group, which didn't bother her. What bothered her was what the group was gathered _for_.

The government had 'hired' them to create a summoning circle of sorts, without even telling them what for. They had given the group certain parameters to work with, and told them to do the work. Stacy just wanted to go home.

However, she began to suspect one or two in their demonology group must know the reason why they were doing this because they kept changing certain things for 'no reason'. Perhaps Stacy was the only one to notice, as none of the others said anything, so she remained quiet as well.

An entire fortnight passed, and by then Stacy was too tired to worry about the world outside. She just wanted some sleep. It wasn't that they were pressured or threatened into working fourteen hours a day, but the mere presence of military guards standing everywhere they worked provided unnecessary amounts of motivation.

Occasionally it occurred to her to demand to be released, using the 'I am an American citizen' excuse against them and demanding for rights, but that seemed as achievable as concocting a plan to break out by force—they were going to fight to keep her. Stacy hid it well, but she was terrified. In any other situation, working with other famous demonologists to summon a demon would have been fun—now it was just frightening.

However, her prayers for rest finally came to realization, and one day while working an agent who was supervising glanced at his watch, glanced at their work, glanced at his watch again and spoke, "Alright, this is enough. You may rest for a few days."

Stacy glanced at the nearest demonologist for affirmation of what was just spoken. He looked at her with the same expression, and they seemed not to have mis-heard. Tentatively, they put down all their working tools and straightened up—some of them were scribbling over a blueprint, while others kept applying new runes and additions to the summoning circle, which was twenty feet in diameter.

Stacy was one of the last to leave, so she heard the agent call out to two of their group, "Wait, Dr. Jenning and Dr. Martin, please stay behind a moment." Those two were arguably the most renowned demonologists in the world. Stacy glanced behind her for a moment and saw the two doctors with the agents talking privately over the circle.

Whatever. That was not her problem. They had basically finished anyway—perhaps after this break they would be allowed to return home. She would have her twelve-day break, work be damned. But secretly, in a small square of her heart, she feared that she may never be allowed to return home, and if she recognized this fear it would weaken her to the state of a child.

**-o-O-o-**

_Invitation to witness the purpose of what we've been working on for the past two weeks? _Stacy didn't know if she couldn't believe it because of its incredulousness or simply because after so long it hardly felt as if their work _had _a purpose.

"Afterwards you will be flown straight home," the agent had promised. Stacy wished she was certain that that was a promise which would remain kept, but enough hope lingered to lighten her spirits.

At first she was a bit afraid—it was a very powerful summoning circle they had created, but she forced herself to relax by repeating in her head, _Okay, but they're the American government, they know what they're doing._

Maybe once this was all over, she would move to Canada.

The demonologists weren't part of the summoning itself. They were led to some balcony above the expansive room where they had worked tirelessly for a fortnight, which was protected with glass, but still possible to hear what was going on below. No agents remained in the room with them, and that was fine.

There were seats but nearly no one sat down. Stacy found herself mindlessly kicking the wall gently with her toes at one point while waiting for whatever spectacle it was to begin.

In a nearby balcony, many government officials stood observant as well. The only people standing on the floor below were the summoners, as well as some military personnel.

After nearly an hour of waiting, two sheep were brought in as the sacrifices. (Stacy felt a little off witnessing their death, but at least it wasn't a human sacrifice.) A couple words could be heard spoken by the summoners, but all they could hear it as was mumbling from so far away.

For ten seconds, nothing happened. A couple officials next-door gave each other looks of disgust at the apparent failure, but every demonologist knows that if a demon actually showed up after ten seconds it could be considered early.

Suddenly a large, ebony figure appeared, its voice established on raw power. The demon's colour was like midnight, and suddenly there was a metallic tang in the air around all of them.

"W̼̳̫ͪ͌͌Ḧ͊ͪ̂O̤ͦ͌̿̓ ̥͍͚̬̜̒͆̈̇D̖̱̩̼̲͖ͅA̺͙̝̮̳ͪṞ̬̟̹̯̗̤̈́̐̀E̳̭̠ͩ̋ͦͥ̚Sͤ̀͋͛͛ ̖̦̑͐̎͊ͭ̍SÛ̥̹̑ͫ̏ͨM͔̘̻͓͇̪͆ͩͅM̹͍̬̩̬̈̔O̝̝̤̬̫N̝̯̱̯͒̈̑ͬ̊ͣ̎ ̣͓̯͓͓̭ͨͭ͑̈͊ͫͩA̟̙̲͍̰̖̎L̜̝̘̙̹̦͋C̤ͬ̽O̻̜̼͍̭R̭̥̳͍̬̻͐ͅ ̠̘̎͋̒Tͤ́͊̀̉̓̍H͎̦̠͈̋͋̄̅́ͪ̓Ḙ̘̹̣̥̎͆ ͚̜̂͋ͭͦͦ͆̍D̘ͧͩͪ̾ͦͦ̈Ṟ̹ͧ͂ͮ̏ͭ̄Ë͎́ͣ̽̂̽Ȁ̰̬͈̣͙̪̭ͥ̔̒̑M̲̄́B̻͙̱̀̒̒ͥͣȄ̠̟͙͈̘͌Ǹ̖̲͑͂ͩ̅̉D͓̳̗̬͓̳̤̾͂E̺͙̺̟̳͚̎ͥ̑ͭ͆ͣR̯̱͙͂̓͋ͥ̋̓ͨ?̳͉ͨͧͮ͂̂̐" The demon's voice was projected across the entire room, ringing like an echo.

Of course, this was whom Stacy was expecting. The circle obviously was a summoning circle for the infamous dreambender, and one every demonologist would recognize. Although it had occurred to her before, the thought came in mind once again that Alcor would definitely not appreciate being summoned by the government. Her face went cold, and her heart skipped a beat.

The demon looked around at its surroundings. "Wow," it spoke, its voice sounding a little less all-powerful and possibly filled with childish amusement. "Wow. Government? Well, I've been expecting this."

The summoners didn't act, so one of the officials from the balcony next door grabbed a microphone and spoke into it, his voice transmitted into the room below. "Alcor, legendary Dream Bender, the Twin Star—"

"Do us all a favour and shut up?" Alcor's size shrunk a little, rendering him to his more human-like form—floaty top hat, back suit with cape/wings, normal-looking skin. "I've been expecting this a _long _while. You don't just kidnap seven of the greatest demonologists in the world and not have anyone notice. Piece of cake finding them from the mindscape; wow, I am disgusted by all of you."

The agent went tight-lipped, and then said what seemed like the government standard fall-back line, "It was their obligation as American citizens—"

The agent's lips halted, by magic. "Kidnapping," Alcor repeated, his eyes glowing a slight blue, like the hottest flames of a fire. He then turned away as if sewing a man's lips together was the least important thing on his mind.

"So, what is this for anyway?" the demon asked, as if he already didn't know the answer, floating by the rim of the summoning circle. Alcor poked the air as if to test its strength, and the circle held. He shrugged to himself as if it didn't really matter anyway. "Want to kill me? That's impossible. Want to arrest me? That would provide entertainment for a while.

"But, unfortunately, I'm in a bit of a hurry, so I can't stay," the demon started, floating off as if being pulled upwards by a puppet string. "Better luck next time, with whatever you were trying to do!"

As he passed through it, the summoning circle crackled violently with energy not unlike lightning bolts, emitting literal sparks of gold and black. Stacy watched in disbelief—all what they had been working for to have failed. She was kind of relieved, if disappointed.

However, that wasn't going to change her demand to go back home. No more working, even if this attempt had failed. She'd threaten to kill herself or something (although she would never be able to follow out the threat).

The small fires in the candles of the circle flickered out of existence like faulty light bulbs. It seemed to strain him, but Alcor managed to break free of the circle.

Stacy knew something was off when she saw the officials in the balcony over smiling to themselves. Alcor seemed to notice it too, with a frown of confusion on his face, but he was just about to leave anyway….

A second, much larger summoning circle blazed to life, emitting a grease-like darkness that drank out nearby light to use as its own fuel. This circle was much more intricate, containing symbols even Stacy wasn't aware existed. Once-invisible runes carved into the wall blazed into existence with the colour of blood. Stacy's astonishment at the situation grew. An invisible summoning circle, only revealing itself after the demon escaped a first, inner one, should be impossible. No—it _must _be impossible. But here is was.

This drained all of the demon's cockiness immediately.

"What the—?" He seemed too confused to try to escape, perhaps even a little intrigued. Stacy glanced over at her fellow demonologists, who all seemed as confused as she was—with the exception of Jenning and Martin.

The summoning circle runes crackled like wood being burned in a fire, an almost painful sound, while appearing to grow more crimson in colour.

The dreambender lashed out at the circle, but it seemed to be hurting him. "A͎̤͖ͧ͗͐ͣ͐̄Á̜̱̥̮͈͙͈ͯ̈̽͗ͭC̦̥͇̩͒̚C͍Ḵ͎̳ͫ͗̋ͭ̓̓͒K͇͓̫̺̻̲̭̾ͥ—" he faltered, his voice gaining a demon-like tone. Stacy unconsciously took a step backwards. "H̰OW̪ͤ̽̍̉ͦ—?"

"Why so surprised, demon?" a new official asked, the smugness in his voice so thick you could have tasted its acidic tang it in the air. "You were the one who gave us this information."

Stacy sat down on one of the seats, unblinking. How was this possible? This should be impossible. Unless….

Of course. Argh, she was such an idiot. Stacy had almost completely forgotten about the Black Tome, which the government had seemed so interested in finding. They must have located it some time in the past three weeks, and used its information to create an 'impossible' summoning circle. Stacy realized there were cold tears making their way down her face.

The demon's figure shrank, then grew twice its size. "S̮̠͙̤̘̦̰T͓͙̣͎̜̑̓̿O̯͚͎͙͕ͧP̌̄̔ͫ—" he commanded, his skin the colour of oil, but it flickered and seemed to cause him pain. Alcor grabbed his head, as if trying to rip out the agony from his mind.

Behind Stacy, the rest of the demonologists were berating Jenning and Martin for hiding this from them, but she didn't pay attention.

Stacy examined the runes on the wall. The majority were enhancing spells, used to make a summoning circle more powerful. However, to carve the slightest trace improperly, and the charms exploded upon summoning. Obviously, these ones were carved spot-on.

And the circle itself? Stacy pieced together enough clues from what she did know—this summoning circle's method of trapping a demon was by redirecting its own emitted energy back to the being, neutralizing its power and in theory containing him or her or it. Towards stronger demons this circle could in theory be quite effective.

And the consequence of the runes and the summoning circle together? Enhance the energy being directed back to the demon….

Alcor was so powerful that he couldn't take the receiving end of his own power. Stacy wanted to hit her head against something.

The demon had liquid gold tears running down his face, splattering on the ground almost softly. His form flickered like a glitch on a computer game, and when his eyes opened they were a watered-down yellow. "Ẃ͚̮H̶̪͓͇̦̱A̲̩͓̬̖T̗̀ ̺̦̮͚A̢̳̳̻̼̤̮R̪̺͉͉͓ͅE̙̠̪̖̞̭̖͠ ͔̺̕Y̜͚͢O͔U̼̠͇̻ Ḏ̰͓̖̯̠O͍̻̭̼̰̕I̟̼̪̭̙̘̞N̫̺͖̠G̢͇?̩̭̝̞̤̯͖͟" he demanded, his voice more a child's.

"Don't you remember writing the Black Tome?" the agent replied through the microphone, cocky. "It told us everything we needed to know."

Alcor's eyes drifted off, as if beginning to remember and deeply regret. A spasm of power coursed through him, and he cried out in agony, stumbling down the air almost as if he were tripping down a staircase. The demon landed on the floor, tendrils of shadows leaping in every direction around him, to shield him from view. The glowing of the summoning circle became more concentrated. The summoners on the ground had already fled, but Stacy hadn't seen to where.

"Perhaps the world was fooled," the agent on the watch-balcony announced. "Maybe it _is _possible to kill a demon—a demon who is the largest threat to the lives of American citizens."

Stacy wanted to scream. _That's what this is for?! You want to kill Alcor, the most powerful demon in existence because you found him a threat?! _The reason was pathetic—there had to be more.

High on adrenaline, she raced out of the room. Fortunately the door was unlocked.

Outside, the wisps of darkness grew thinner and weaker until collectively gasping out of existence, revealing what appeared to be a twelve-year-old Alcor, curled up on the ground and clutching his sagging clothes as if they were his lifeline. His suit had faded in colour, now more of a charcoal than the usual ebony.

Cheering went up in the agent's room. Stacy had a vile taste in her mouth. In the hallway on her way there she ran into an officer. She paused in her step, but stood her ground.

"What the _hell _is going on?!" she demanded, making him stop. "Why do we have the most powerful demon in _existence_ held captive in the room next door?! I worked my ass off for two weeks trying to make that summoning circle—I have the right to know!"

The agent seemed apathetic. "Doctor, all will be explained in due time, however—"

"I am not waiting around another _second!" _she shouted. "I was kidnapped and forced to work here by the government of _all fucking things, _and now I'm demanding that someone explains to me what the whole big damn idea is!"

She had never sworn so much in her life. It felt good.

"Ma'am,"—the agent's voice dropped to a frost cold—"you are interfering with official government business and I'm afraid that if you don't move within the next six seconds I will be forced to apprehend you."

Stacy glowered and considered her chances of stealing his gun to shoot him. Finally, with pure hatred, she stepped aside.

"But please, just answer me this," she begged, taking her voice down a peg. "Are we really capturing Alcor just because he's a 'threat'?"

The agent didn't look at her. Finally, he replied, "No."

**-o-O-o-**

Three dozen military soldiers entered the room at command. They stood three feet away from the circle, and kept their weapons out and pointed at the near-unconscious form of Alcor. The demon lifted its head with exertion at all of the soldiers, trying to gather to its feet, but tripping on its stupid cape and falling with violent spasms. There was fear and confusion in the child's eyes, but its screams still sounded baleful and unholy.

This is wonderful, thought Agent Johnson, the head of the entire operation. All is going according to plan.

They could have apprehended a lesser-known, smaller demon—it was possible. However, Alcor had been their best candidate, albeit being difficult to capture. The demon was the most powerful supernatural creature in existence, a source of _a lot _of energy, as well as not being known to have many paranormal acquaintances willing to bust him out of a difficult situation if necessary.

It had dawned on him that this whole operation could have gone horrible wrong—they couldn't conduct a test-run with some Legion or Spirit, because that would have taken a completely different route for summoning and runes and whatnot. They only had once shot, and it had worked.

Oh, how they were going to make America rich! Johnson grinned to himself, watching the withering twelve-year-old form of the demon below. Now that they had the source, all they needed was the mechanics to harness the power. Oils had been long since depleted, as well as other non-renewable natural resources. The supernatural had made it near impossible to set up other forms of gathering power; demons were going to be the next big energy provider.

Something down below caught his eye. Something was changing. Johnson turned and stared.

_What the hell is happening to that thing?_

**-o-O-o-**

The form of Alcor suddenly stood, still a twelve-year-old. Golden tears tracked down the demon's face, and his form shook from exertion. However, he stood smiling, as if his pain was humorous. Several soldiers wavered uncertainly.

"You…" he started, then wiped away the tears on his face, which turned into oil at his fingertips. "You seriously thought you could contain… Alcor the Dreambender?"

The microphone came on. "You have been beaten, demon," said one of the agents. "Don't think that—"

The entire system blew up in that moment. "Y͉̕O̙̮U̡̟̯̬̰ ̸̻͔̫͎Ḵ̪̱͍͍̺̞́N͔̣̮͓̭͎̝̕O̰̝̝͖̕W͉̟͇͙ ͇͢Ń̹Ó͉Ţ̗̱̹̪̤H͠ͅỊ̸̣͎̱̜N̛̩G̲̦̜͇̘͈̼ ̞̀Ọ̙̟̟͉̯͕F̞̹͙̝ ̡̤̤̲͎̪̙̪D͘Ḛ̗͟Ṃ̶̯ON͇̪̹̹Ș͈̙̘̹̣̺."

All light in the room was extinguished with a gasp. All essence seemed to swirl and condense into the centre of the summoning room, where a thick cloud of darkness crackled with bolts of pure energy the colour of fire. Nearly half of the soldiers faltered backwards.

Alcor the Dreambender emerged from the blizzard of ink, his eyes a crimson-medallion. His form was completely black, with the outline of bricks etched into his side in gold.

"Y̖̫͠O̴̮̤͓͓̘̪̖Ṵ̵͉̥ ̹̳H̟͚̭O̦͎N̷͇E̪̬͈̤ͅṢ̭̭͕̲͜TL̵͚̱͉̗Y̱̬̰̺̬̗͢ ̼Ḅ̤̝EͅLI̯͚͚̤E̮͚͔̟͕V̢E̞̦̜̰̺̗͈D͔ ̦̮Y̼̤̜͓̞̝̭͢O̻̜U̪̦̝͔ C̣͇̰Ọ͖͉̯U̳̩̳̠̖̟͠L̤͙̪̺͢ͅD̬̼̙̖ ̶̮̳̜Ḛ͎͓̜̼N̳̦̘͎̝ͅS̼̰͖͍̩͈L͝A̠̹̺͟V͚̣̦͕͡E͟ **Ȧ̙̪͎ͮ͆͛̐̓ͬͭ̿L̬̲̪̤͔̖̹͓̈́̿̿͌̽͐ͨͤͅC̮͎̗͕͈͎̦̼̱ͫͣͩ̓͌ͩͦ̆Ȯ̝̫̘̤̰̮̃ͬ͑ͣR̩̽̿̆ͅ ̙̘̻̜̙̝̟͗̿͊͊ͨṪ͇̺̠̙̤̭̃͑H̬͍̙͙͒̎̈́̚E͖̭̎ͣ̽̀̅̌͛͐̔ͅͅ ͎̭̜͕̳͇̱̼̊̋ͥ͐Ḓ̩̎ͬ̋̄̋ͧR̩̳̞̯͛̔̓̂Ĕ̺͇͎͕͍̠̯̮̓̂ͪ̍̂ͮA͙͍͈̅M͙̖̙͓̲͐ͧ̆W͚̜̞̓ͮͩ͆ͦ̓͆̈Ȅ̱̹̪͇̥̗͚̼ͩͦͮ͒͒A̩̪͙̱͎̒̆͛ͯ̔ͅV̭͕̙̮͔̗̣̩͋̆́ͧ̉͗̚̚E̗̖̱͇͗ͩ̂̇̉Ṙ͍̥̳̬̯̺̖̈́͋̓ͭ̿͐͑͗?!"**

Stacy's mind was in shock. If she hadn't been so terrified she would have probably been analyzing the whole situation with profession—perhaps finding logical explanations for this demon's sudden energy spike, and mentally pre-preparing for later experiments—but all she could focus on was her fear, almost like bullets of ice, rendering her weaker with jabs of ice that continued to spread.

This should be impossible, but of course, the impossible seemed to be occurring a lot today. Alcor just... _absorbed _his own redirected energy, becoming twice as powerful every passing instant. That would drive any demon insane… but he hadn't had any other choice.

The inky tendrils, thick as grease, lashed out to every living thing in the proximity of five hundred metres. The demon didn't seem to have any control, but wasn't keen on stopping it.

His power continued to multiply incessantly; Dipper knew he had to escape the circle. He thrashed and pounded on the binding without avail, growing more and more agitated, eventually opting to cause an earthquake to disrupt the circle from the outside, destroying the entire building in the process.

Dipper's last strands of humanity knew he needed to release this energy soon, or it would drive his essence insane, tearing apart his very being. (Oh, how he regretted helping Phil write that book. In retrospect, the idea of clarifying the Alcor/Mizar relationship in exchange for all demon weaknesses was pretty stupid.)

He released as much energy as he could to the survivors in the building, but it hardly even scratched the surface of his power. Alcor grinned at his figure, hot as fire, flickering in and out of space, possibly time as well.

"AAAAAAAAAA̖͎͖̱̫͔̹̺̬͖̤̹̣̫͚̼ͣ͗ͨ̈̋̾̐̅̆ͧͅA̹͚̘͓ͥ̓̈́̉ͩ̌͆̀A͍̮͍͕̜̘̥̩̮͍̤͖̣̠̲͗̆̋̉́̏ͤͥͅA̳̻̝̬̩͔̻͙̗͎͒̆̋̊ͭͤͬ_A͓̬̖͚̟̪̳ͬ̀̇ͫ͛̅͌ͅḀ̹̗̲͙͚̤̖̻̅̊̾ͩ͂̾͌A͖̫͓̟̰̦̬̯̣͕͚͉̖͚͇͙͊͊̽̓͂̄ͯͯͦͮ̆ͮͮͭ̍̈́̅ͅͅH̗̙̙͒̌ͩͯͧ͂͊̏̈̿ͦ̓ͭ͊H̰̣̝͎͉̥̰̥̰̤̲̖̬̹͈ͧ̇͒ͫ̃ͨ͒ͫ̑̔H̫͎̺̳͊͛̓ͬ̄ͭ͒͌H̭̖̲̗̥̩̺̼͔͍͔̳̅̌̈́̒͋̇̽ͨ̂H͈̪͇͚ͫͮ̄̒͌H͉̹͔̳̑͌̋ͩ̈̒̔̓̈ͯͤ̊̀͆͛̔Ȟ̜̠̝̦̹̈́̌͒̐̈́̑H̞͖͉̪̣̤̣͉͛ͯͮ͐̀ͥ̏̈́H̙̗̰͔͔̙̫̥͈͕̗̹̝̼ͭͮ̍͆͋̽̿̔ͪ̍̇ͮ͂̾H͍͕̼̭̱͕̦̭͎͚̭̗̩͉̱̹̩̠͓̭ͨͦ̽̄͂A̲͖͇̥̬̞̞͛̋̉ͩ͊̋̎̓̐̍ͭ̑̔̀͘͞H̺͈͍̜͓̭̤̦̖̪͙̥͓͚̏ͧ̑̈́Ḩ̝̜̥̤̻̦͚̯͚̮̻̫̱̪͒̎͑́́H̛̺̩̞͙̺̫̞̒̽ͣ͑̾̈̈́̿̾̆̊̍̈́̔͗͡͡H!"_

He didn't have complete control over his normal powers, goddammit, how on earth was he supposed to deal with his power tenfold—

As a last attempt to save himself, Dipper's personality split all over the world's centre of the paranormal, Gravity Falls, teleporting the entire town over to the mindscape.

Those who remember the day remember it by the name of the Psychic Regularity.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah... if you don't know the AU then this is going to make a lick of sense. But whatever!<strong>


End file.
